Page 39 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

“No family. No wife. Do you regret it?”

The tear in his eye finally slips down his temple. His tongue glides over his cracked lips that have begun to turn blue as death creeps over him. “No.”

I give a nod and step around the desk, making my way toward the door, when Marchetti’s panicked outcry brings me to a halt.

“You … don’t leave me … like this. Finish me!”

I glance back at him and shake my head, continuing on toward the door.

I’ve one more to kill. The last, to avenge Dylan.

* * *

The walls of the confessional box close in on me, suffocating the rage that still festers inside of me, like a snuffer over flame.

“It’s done.” I keep my gaze locked on the door and my voice calm, level, exactly what the Agency would expect.

“Good. And the girl?”

I frown down at my hands curled into tight fists, as I imagine punching them right through the partition that separates me from Father James. “Dead.”

“I’ve already transferred the cash to your account. It includes a bonus from the Agency for completing the contract.”

“I didn’t.”

Through the wall, I hear him shift on the bench and clear his throat. “You did as far as the Agency is concerned.”

“I want to know why.” Leaning into the partition, I lower my voice. “I deserve that much.”

“I owe you nothing.”

“And my mother? Did you owe her nothing?” She was a tireless parishioner, but more than that, Father James had always been madly in love with her.

“I saved you, boy. From the sadistic bastard she married, the one who marked you for a life of misery and pain. Let us not forget what you were destined for, Ripley.”

My jaw clenches at his words, my fingers curling around the lip of the bench. “You gave me the gun that turned me into a monster.”

“It was already in you. I merely channeled it.” He expels a forced breath. “This is about the woman. The Black Monarch you were ordered to kill.”

“It was about a woman for you as well. And the son that shouldn’t have been, right?” In all the years I’ve sat in this box, confessing sins, it’s the first time I’ve mentioned his. “Tell me,” I grit out. “Or this is where I walk away.”

“You know the consequences of walking.”

“I do.”

A moment of silence follows, every muscle in my body taut as a bowstring.

“Very well,” he finally says. “The client pulled out when he learned that Dorian was behind it.”

“He murdered the man’s daughter.”

Through the partition, Father James trains his gaze on me, impassive dark eyes staring back at me through the metal grates. “She was given to Dorian. Sold.”

The rage sputters up my throat, and I clench my teeth to keep from unleashing hell in this holy place. “Dorian Bertrand is dead.”

“You killed him?”

“No. He was killed by one of his own. Car explosion.” I don’t tell him about Dylan and the possibility that she ended his life before that explosion.